


Hello there, Sweetcheeks

by hugemind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Candy, Crack, M/M, Magic, Object Insertion, Rimming, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-12
Updated: 2007-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugemind/pseuds/hugemind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is jealous, Dean buys candy, a magical transvestite appears and everybody's happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello there, Sweetcheeks

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure candy!porn with a dash of crack and no plot. Despite the pronouns used, everybody in this story is a consenting, fictional, adult male. Thanks to [](http://sadelyrate.livejournal.com/profile)[**sadelyrate**](http://sadelyrate.livejournal.com/) and [](http://thegirlisfrail.livejournal.com/profile)[**thegirlisfrail**](http://thegirlisfrail.livejournal.com/) for the comments and to [](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/profile)[**insomnia_geek**](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/) for her amazing beta-fu. Any mistakes are mine alone. Originally posted to LJ on September 12, 2007.

It should be illegal to let Dean eat candy. More specifically, candy canes and lollipops. At least when Sam's trying very hard to be pissed at Dean and not fuck him through the mattress. The bastard would just love _that_.

The evil mountain of colorful candy piled on Dean's bedside table taunts Sam; Dean has enough material to slurp and suck his way through Sam's determination - as he's already done for the last hour. Sam's silent treatment is getting his point made, but the knowledge doesn't make resisting Dean any easier; the longer he fights the urge to shove Dean down, the more spectacular his inevitable fall will be.

So Sam's only option is to think up a suitable punishment for Dean for flirting with the circus's fortune teller right in front of Sam. Try as he might, though, he _still_ can't move past the image of Dean twirling his tongue against the red-and-white candy on a stick that looks like an illicit overgrown lovechild of a candy cane and lollipop. Why the hell do they even make lollipops that big? No kid could ever eat it in one go.

Of course, rationally speaking, Dean was just doing what he does best: extracting information from beautiful women using his natural charm. But Sam was right fucking there, watching how the fortune teller -- and it couldn't even be an old wrinkly woman, no, but someone their age with dark hair, red lips and the clichéd crystal ball -- turned Dean's palm in her hands, stroking it with her slender fingers. Dean had just leaned in closer, smirked and lowered his voice to a sultry purr, "You see anything you like?" At that moment, Sam had coughed innocently in his palm, excused himself politely and stomped off.

In hindsight, he should have realized even through his wave of jealousy why Dean was carrying a lapful of suggestive candy when he got back to the car. The smug bastard.

Now Sam can feel Dean watching him through his lowered lashes, pretending to read something while making a show of sucking that huge lollipop into his mouth, cheeks hollowing, easing it out slowly before twisting it a little -- the stripes and swirls try to hypnotize Sam -- and sucking it back in past those pink lips with moans that would embarrass even a pornstar. Sam just can't stop watching, which leaves him with a rock-hard dick straining against unyielding denim.

Twenty minutes later, Sam stares stubbornly over the screen of the laptop at his brother sitting on his own bed, the excuse of doing research abandoned a long time ago; Sam knows that Dean goddamn knows this, and it's only a battle of wills at this point. Sam wants to hear an apology from Dean, even though he knows that Dean will argue that he did it only for the case. Then Sam will make the mistake of giving him the benefit of the doubt and listen to Dean, who'll argue his case further and make Sam feel bad about being jealous. And Sam'll let Dean assure him that there's no other ass he'd rather be tapping.

_That does it._

He stands up calmly and walks to Dean's bed, pulling the porn, _huh?_ , car magazine from his brother's hands, and just looks at him.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Dean narrows his eyes, mumbling around the lollipop before pulling it out, spit-shiny and so very distracting. "I was reading that."

"No, you weren't," Sam counters, and he's sure that out of the things Dean could have been doing, reading definitely wasn't on the list.

"Uh, was too," Dean informs, letting his tongue swipe obscenely across the tip of the candy stick before smirking up at his brother.

"Whatever."

Sam grabs the half-melted candy from Dean's fingers and tosses it somewhere on the floor. He isn't bothered by how the sugar will make it stick to the carpet. Evil fucking thing deserves to die anyway. If the French priests had known what sins their invention was making people commit hundreds of years later, they would have banned their candies back then. And probably sugar as well.

Dean tastes of sweet artificial flavoring when Sam grabs his jaw with his left palm and presses his lips roughly against Dean's. The moans Dean makes are not teasing anymore, and Sam takes pleasure in that Dean's already hard in his jeans. Sam breaks the kiss and yanks Dean off of the bed, forcing him on his knees. Sam's jeans and boxers make a hasty retreat with the help of Sam's free hand, and his erection springs free, curving gloriously upwards in defiance of gravity. _Yeah._

The smug smirk has vanished from Dean's now parted, slightly swollen lips. Lust-darkened eyes look up at Sam, begging and approving.

"You like to suck things, Dean? Make noises?" Sam breathes out low and dangerous, still holding Dean's jaw in his grip. "Then suck this."

Dean doesn't need to be told twice. The fingers of his right hand curl around Sam's cock, jacking it slowly before he licks his lips -- pink over red-pink -- and runs his tongue up the underside of his brother's cock. He laves at the vein there, then licks at the head, smearing the droplet of pre-come as he twirls his tongue around exactly like he did with the overgrown lollipop.

Sam watches as Dean parts his lips further and slides his mouth down the entire length in one swallow. Everything's suddenly hot - Dean's mouth, Dean's breath on Sam's lower belly, Dean's hands running over Sam's ass.

"Mmm, bet you couldn't do this with her," Sam grunts and cups Dean's head easily with his hands, guiding it to find the right rhythm. Dean hums his answer contentedly around Sam's cock, drawing out ragged breaths from deep inside Sam.

The slick, barely there friction works Sam up, the relentless suction winding him tight. It's impossible to breathe, but Sam needs more. He stills Dean's bobbing head, angling it so that he can really look at Dean. The green-black eyes focus slowly, but somehow Dean's coherent enough to keep sucking Sam.

The groans escaping from Sam's mouth make briefly way for attempted words; he has to pull out of the wet heat of Dean's mouth to be able to speak. "'M gonna fuck your mouth, Dean. Gonna make your throat so sore you can't talk for days."

Dean's eyes widen a little, like he's surprised to hear Sam talk so dirty, but he doesn't fight, doesn't say anything except a throaty 'Sammy'.

"Now, Dean, see something _you_ like?"

Lust sparks in Dean's eyes before he turns his head back to Sam's magnificently jutting cock. He sucks it back into his hot, tight mouth and stays still, letting Sam's big hands wrap around his head, fingers burrowing tightly into the cropped hair.

Sam throws his head back, hardly believing that Dean is letting him do this, and snaps his hips forward. Dean's throat works, maybe close to gagging but there are no such noises, and Sam drives back into the humid heat. Dean moans again, lust and need mixing, and Sam doesn't pause when his balls draw up. He doesn't slow down even as his come shoots down his brother's throat.

He stops when Dean has sucked his half-hard cock clean again, then helps Dean up, kisses his way gently into the abused slickness. Faint traces of sugar trail the sharp, salty taste of _him_ until Sam licks and sucks them both sloppily away, leaving only pure _Dean_ which is delectable in a completely different way. The need for oxygen finally pulls them apart; Dean's skin is flushed, breathing labored and his cock pressing hard through denim against Sam's thigh. Sam smirks, steps back and flops happily down on his bed, leaving Dean to his own devices.

Revenge is _sweet_. Well worth Dean's rough, mumbled cursing and empty threats, and way better than the handful of candy Dean flings at him.

Dean takes the show to the bathroom, frantically tugging down his jeans and boxers while thinking up ways to get even with his brother. Giant hands, shaggy hair, hard muscle Sam. Maybe Sam could use a sugar high to stop him from brooding; hell, now that Dean has a stash, he's more than willing to share. Picturing a colorful candy cane against Sam's pearly whites and pale pink lips makes Dean's cock twitch, and with a couple of strokes he comes messily under the shower spray. Finally sated, he also now has an idea to get back at Sam.

 

\---

 

When Sam wakes up in the morning, the first thing that registers is the shape of a crooked candy cane pressed against his ass. He shifts and looks at the offending green-peach-yellow treat slowly, wondering what the hell is going on, until he remembers last night, Dean's mouth, and his revenge. _Good times indeed._

What he doesn't remember, though, is the woman sleeping on Dean's bed. Jealous anger swells up inside him again; he can't believe that Dean went out and brought a random girl back to _their_ room, no matter how high and dry Sam left him hanging. Fine, maybe that was evil and rude, but Dean totally asked for it. And it certainly doesn't justify _this_.

Briefly, Sam wonders how he didn't wake up when Dean left or, better yet, when he came back with company, but he doesn't bother with logical thinking now. He barely even manages to fully survey the situation before getting on Dean's case.

The woman is tall, maybe even as tall as Dean himself, with long, dark-blonde locks cascading over her shoulders and across the thin pillow. Her back is facing Sam, still covered by a red, low-cut, strappy dress that Sam suspects doesn't reach very far under the blanket drawn up to her hips. The knots of her spine make a pretty string of pearls.

Sam sits up, blinks; there's something odd about the whole thing, and it's not just the hideous pink feather boa wrapped around Dean's neck. Though it does clash horribly with Dean's date's dress.

She chooses that moment to turn to her back, and when Sam sees her face, the rational side of his brain kicks into action again. He dives to the weapons duffel with such underwear-clad super-hero stealth and grace that even Dean would surely approve -- both the moves and outfit -- and loads Dean's pimped out Colt with silver. The sleeping woman looks exactly like Dean, only with red-painted lips, black eyeliner and more freckles. _Shapeshifter, gotta be some weird-ass shapeshifter._

Sam trains the gun on her and shouts, "Dean!"

The woman flinches awake, and Dean emerges from sleep with the knife he always has tucked under his pillow. Dean looks at Sam, ready to chop, dice or slash as soon as someone tells him what's cooking.

"Sam, what?" Dean follows his line of sight, and scrambles off the bed when the sight registers in his coffee-deprived brain. Sugar could work, too, in a pinch. "Dude, what the hell?!"

Dean stares at the woman -- it's like looking into a mirror, only so fucking not. His first thought is that he makes kind of a hot woman. The second whispers _shapeshifter_.

"What did you do, man?" Sam interrogates him.

"Nothing! Why would I--" Dean pauses for a second, and his eyes flicker over the woman. _Oh yeah, that's why_ , supplies his mind immediately, but decides not to go there right now. "How the hell could I do this?"

Okay, maybe he should have said 'no, it wasn't me' rather than something that could be read only wrong, but he gestures wildly towards her to draw Sam's attention away from his words.

Sam nods sharply towards the figure who's now edging away from Dean's knife with a startled look. "That-- doesn't look like nothing."

Dean opens his mouth to defend himself, but nothing comes out, so he closes it and shrugs.

The woman, she-Dean, gets off the bed, out of Dean's reach, and relaxes. She sounds very much like Dean, only her voice is a little higher and tone much more cheerful. "Oh, Dean really didn't do anything. I'm here to help him with his confused sexual image."

"..."

Dean squeaks indignantly and stares at the woman. With a smirk, she raids Dean's pile of candy, happily sucking on a long, straight candy cane, while Dean tries to point out the utter impossibility of her statement by raising his eyebrows high and gaping like a fish. It's not working. At least Sam doesn't think so, and he tries to hide a snicker.

Even worse for Dean is that she feels the need to explain further. "Well, it seems like you like men and women, and even though Sam here is fully committed to you, you can't tell him that you feel the same way. So you try to piss him off by--"

"Hey!" Dean gets his priorities straight. "I'm not confused!"

He looks at the woman -- himself? -- some more and realizes that he doesn't really want to hazard a guess whether or not her boobs are real.

"So what the fuck are you supposed to be? The exposition fairy?" Dean snaps at the woman.

That's when Dean finally notices the pink feather boa still wrapped around his neck. He throws it quickly aside, glaring at it like it might come alive and bite him. Sam recognizes the 'seriously, what the hell?' look on Dean's face and offers him consolation with a 'huh, you got me'.

Her smile falters a bit, and Sam almost feels sympathetic. But then she grins, looking just as self-confident and smug -- and hot -- as Dean. "You could say that."

Sam reaches into the duffel and gets out his video camera while she's distracted by Dean again. And what do you know, she's blatantly checking Dean out. Ha! Sam knows that Dean thinks he's God's gift to women, so this actually makes sense. Dean could use some emotional traumas concerning sex.

A click from the camera alerts she-Dean, and she looks over, then strikes a pose, pouting her lips around the candy at the camera. The tension of the whole situation defuses into priceless humor after Sam confirms that her eyes do not flare on the screen. Not a shapeshifter, then. Just really hot.

Sam lowers the muzzle of Dean's Colt slightly, just enough to clear her central body mass but still threaten other painful injuries if the need should arise.

He uses his best 'talking to innocent regular people' voice on her. The effect is somewhat lessened by the fact that he's half-naked. "So, how are you supposed to help Dean?"

Dean glares at Sam like he's in on this twisted scheme. Sam just wishes he was, because this is too good to be true.

"In any way that I can," she smiles wolfishly, giving Dean a head-to-toe leer.

"How did you get here?"

"Oh, I'm the result of one of those twenty-four hour spells. Esmeralda thought that this would come... in handy," she says matter-of-factly, licking the candy and damn, she's even better with it than Dean.

"Esme-- you mean the fortune teller in the circus." Sam rolls his eyes about how stereotypical the name is.

"Hey, she's not just a fortune teller," she responds, offended, but decides to leave it at that. "But yeah."

Sam ponders on it. A witch, maybe. But why? Then he looks at Dean, who's still dressed only in boxers and obviously very pissed at the whole thing, and realizes that apparently his brother really was flirting just for the information. In that case, revenge is sweet for witches as well. Sam smiles, not angry at Dean anymore.

"And she didn't give you any instructions on-- how to help?" Sam asks carefully.

Dean snorts in protest, but Sam catches the way Dean tries to stealthily rake his eyes over his feminine counterpart. Upon getting caught, Dean scowls at Sam.

Sam questions Dean, lips frowning in amusement. "What, Dean? She's here to help you. Don't look a magical transvestite clone of yourself in the mouth."

She-Dean lets the green-red-white striped candy cane slip from between her lips, pointing it with a suggestive wiggle at Dean. "Sam's right, Dean. You could do more than just look at my mouth."

Dean huffs a breath, failing to hide the spark of interest her words ignite; he blushes faintly but still holds the knife out in self-defense.

It seems that Sam is her secondary target when Dean doesn't react. Her low, sultry words wrap around him, "How about you, Sam? I know how crazy these lips drive you."

She runs the candy cane against her lips, an exact replica of Dean's, then chases the taste away with her tongue, pursing the pretty lips a little. Sam almost asks how she knows, but, y'know, magic. All the shades of pink and red have him hypnotized, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with her suggestion. The gun is forgotten somewhere on his bed as he approaches her, backing her into the wall.

Her lashes flutter coyly against her cheek, something that Dean never does, before Sam kisses her hard. She moans into the kiss, as Sam mentally catalogues the differences between her and the male Dean. Except, hello, according to the hardness digging into his thigh, she has some distinctly male parts. Surprised, Sam lifts her skirt, _Dean going commando, now that's a shocker_ , inches his palm around her dick and _there_ are no differences.

"You like that, Sam? Being watched by your brother while your tongue is in my mouth and you jerk me?" she murmurs into Sam's ear.

Sam flinches the tiniest bit; he almost forgot Dean. He breaks the contact for a moment and looks at his brother. The dropped knife, flushed skin and barely hidden erection indicate that all's right in the world. Sam meets Dean's eyes when he replies to her (him? Sam really has no idea what the correct pronoun for these kinds of situations is, but he decides to stick with 'she', because of the lipstick, eyeliner and the dress). "Yeah, I like it."

Sam's other hand travels upward, bunching up the red fabric, and he breathes a long sigh of relief when he finds only hard, smooth, muscled plains and no soft, round breasts. Pulling his hand free, he lets it tangle in her long, wavy hair. It doesn't take much of a tug to discover that it's a wig, and Sam shucks it off. _Dean._

Honestly, Dean wasn't expecting to see that, but watching Sam crowding in on whatever she (the hell?! he? it? _me?_ ) really is, makes him hot and very bothered. He strokes himself through his boxers, following Sam's hands under its skirt and through its hair (and fuck, if it looks like a Dean and writhes like a Dean, it fucking _is_ a Dean... except that there's only one of him and he's not ready nor willing to share the title, so maybe 'she' will have to do -- no way he would be putting on lipstick anyway). Sam pushes the straps from her shoulders (see, 'she' totally makes sense), and Dean finally sees her (damnit!) gorgeous cock.

The broken string of moans and gasps escaping her lips has Sam leaning heavily into her, biting a trail of bruises from her collarbone to her bared neck, her back pressed against the wall between the two beds. Her arms hang limply at her sides, leaving her completely open to his attack, and Sam lifts his fingers to her deep raspberry red lips. She sucks them into her mouth eagerly, running her tongue around and between the digits while Sam threads his other hand in her hair. It's hardly longer than Dean's, barely enough to grip but it's more than he can do with Dean.

"That's good," Sam purrs in her ear. "You know what I'm gonna do with 'em, don't you?"

She just whimpers as Sam pulls his wet fingers out and shifts his body to let his arm snake down her chest, not letting his fingers touch her until they arrive at her opening. Sam circles the slick muscle, then pushes two spit-shiny digits inside her, feels her hand's tight grip on his biceps.

"Sam, please," she begs, trying to fuck herself on Sam's hand.

She's still holding on to the candy cane, and Sam is seriously fixated on seeing it between those delicious lips. He closes his hand over hers and slowly guides it to her lips, and she accepts it with a satisfied whimper-moan, letting Sam move it softly in tandem with his other hand.

Dean can't keep just watching anymore. The sight of Sam fingering her (shit, who cares anymore when they look _that_ hot) is sending all his blood to his cock, and even though it feels _so good_ , he wants more. So he steps behind Sam, ghosts his left hand over Sam's naked ribs to palm his hard and heavy dick through the thin fabric. Dean's right hand roams free, running over pulse points and taut muscles to drive his brother slowly crazy. Sam tries to stifle a gasp when Dean licks and sucks the heated skin on his shoulder. Dean's erection presses against Sam's ass, and Sam twists around to let Dean's tongue fuck his mouth.

It's an awkward tangle of bodies, and after a while Dean nudges Sam aside. He gives Sam a predatory smile, slips his left hand inside Sam's boxers, then goes for the candy shaft, swallowing the other end.

Dean's lips wrap lightly around Sam's fingers on every down stroke, and Sam's brain short-circuits. The two pairs of lips devouring that red-white-green candy take turns licking his fingers in the middle, leaving them coated with sugar-sticky saliva. Sam stares, mesmerized by the similarities and the differences in those two faces -- one slightly more masculine and the other gingerly feminine -- and the swollen lips sweeping over the candy in his hand, not quite touching each other.

Dean watches the candy sliding in and out of her mouth, eyes shining wantonly, and knows that he's not any better off. She reaches her hand out to let it rest on Dean's hip, nails digging into skin, muscle and bone in a wordless agreement. They give Sam a seductive side-glance and return to sucking the candy shaft with wet slurps. The tempting aroma of sweet peppermint lingers in the air.

 _Christ_ , Sam almost comes from seeing the heat in Dean's eyes reflected in hers like in a room full of mirrors. Sam fucks his fingers harder into her and wiggles his ass even closer to Dean's cock. He feels Dean reaching with his right arm to grab her cock. There are too many hands and not enough space, but the warm, burning skin everywhere feels so good; he surrenders to the press of flesh -- Dean -- and stops thinking.

Dean jerks her cock like he usually does his own, and whoa, she has obviously the same preferences, because she comes hard over his fist after only a few rough pumps, screams muffled by a mouthful of candy. Sam bucks into Dean's left palm and gives him more room to finish him off by pulling his hand away from her spent body. But that's not gonna happen if Dean gets a say in it, and he definitely intends to have more than just a say.

Releasing her softening cock, Dean bites down on the sticky-wet cane, which has been softened a little from the surface by the hungry mouths, and pulls back, stealing it for himself. Sam's hand lingers on it, but he bats it away. He sucks the candy a couple times before he releases it with a sticky pop.

"What are you thinking, Sammy?" Dean whispers and there's a command somewhere underneath the words.

"Fuck--" breathes Sam, surrounded by hot, too hot flesh.

"Want me to fuck you, little brother?" Dean croons right into Sam's ear, not giving enough friction to help Sam. Dean's eyes stray to her and receive a tired look of approval. Not that he needs it, but his cock gets suddenly a little more interested at the thought of her watching.

Sam moans, "God, Dean. Yes."

"So why aren't you already naked then?"

Sam's boxers practically vanish, and Dean lets him go and steps back.

"On the bed."

Within seconds Sam's lying on his back in the middle of the bed, kicking back the covers and spreading his legs wide for Dean.

Dean observes the welcoming submission, eyes fixed on the tanned expanse of skin where Sam's fingers are already tweaking his nipples. He licks the cane absent-mindedly -- tongue tracing the spirals -- while he settles between Sam's splayed legs, and he notices the way Sam's brows knit closer together in desperation.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam pleads.

Well, now. He can't ignore a request like _that_. Giving the cane one final flick of a tongue, Dean leans over his brother, drawing Sam's eyes to the candy cane. Dean dips it in the come still on his fist, rolling it around slowly, and sees when his plans register to Sam.

"Tell me you want this, Sam. Tell me that you want me to fuck you with this."

Sam licks his own lips, "Anything... _Jesus_ , Dean, do it."

The candy is about as thick as Dean's two fingers, so he eases it inside Sam unceremoniously. Sam grunts, and Dean soaks up the sound. When Sam reaches for his own cock in search of glorious friction, Dean grabs him by the wrist.

"Can't have you doing that, Sam," Dean chides.

He strips his boxers off and ponders on a way to keep Sam behaving, almost telling him to keep his hands to himself, until his eyes fall on her. She's leaning back on the other bed, lids at half-mast, but her gaze on them, cock hardening again.

Dean stares at her for a second and grins. "Why don't you make yourself useful?"

It seems that she understands Dean perfectly -- and why wouldn't she? -- because she crawls over to the bed and settles against the headboard. She gathers Sam's arms in her lap to tie them together with the pink feather boa that makes Dean shudder minutely. Sam growls, but it deteriorates into whimpers soon enough as Dean twists the candy inside him.

Dean starts to fuck Sam in earnest with the candy stick, concentrating on the stripes, screwing it in and out. Then, with a wicked grin, he leans down and closes his lips around the other end, working it in and out of his mouth before he sucks it down. This is what payback looks like.

Sam is pretty sure that he's going to black out from pleasure soon. Dean works the candy shaft like a small dildo, brushing it against his prostate on every second thrust, just short of _perfect_ , and his tied hands can't provide any relief. Every time Dean wraps his mouth around the make-shift dildo, Sam can feel Dean's exhales cooling his skin right next to the unbearably hot patches, creating a juxtaposition that reduces him to whimpers.

"How does it feel, Sweetcheeks?" The tone makes the question redundant; Dean knows exactly how Sam thrashes underneath the points of contact. But Sam doesn't notice how the words are spoken into his ear, with a voice that's almost but not exactly. "You look so fucking gorgeous, Sam. Legs spread open for Dean, letting him do anything. And you take it all and beg for more."

 _More._ That sounds good.

"Need more, Dean. Harder," Sam begs.

Dean sharpens the thrusts, deepens them, then smiles wickedly at Sam. "What, more candy?"

"N-- no. You. Need you." Sam can't find the strength to keep his head up, so he slumps down on the mattress, head thrown back and long throat bared.

She uses the opportunity to lick at the sweaty-sweet column of skin with messy swipes of her tongue.

No matter how hot Sam looks right now, filled with candy treats and cock craving attention, Dean can't ignore his plea. He tosses the candy cane aside, not caring if their room resembles Candyland, and slips both his thumbs into Sam's ass, keeping him open. Dean breathes lightly over the trails of minty saliva and watches Sam squirm and buck under her grip.

"Dean!" Sam screams, and they both smirk.

This is what payback sounds like.

Dean takes pity on Sam and holds his breath when he dives in with his tongue. He licks the sugar from the edges of Sam's hole, tastes peppermint when he goes deeper and tries not to miss one single molecule. Sam's skin burns hot on his tongue but the cool mint inhales soothe the burn, making Dean hungry for more.

"You've got a sweet ass, Sammy," Dean mumbles against Sam's skin. "Wanna lick it all clean and do this again."

Sam keens loudly; Dean can't fight the urgency pulsing in his cock any more and lubes up. Maybe it should be somewhat embarrassing how hard he is without anyone touching him, but when Sam wails like that, it doesn't matter.

He drives home, enjoying the double vision of a writhing, fucked-out Sam screwing his eyes shut and breathing jerkily; and her jacking off, fist moving over her cock in rapid strokes. The left-over peppermint coats the head of Dean's cock, cooling down the sensitive skin when he pulls out of Sam almost completely. Fucking unbelievable is what it is.

Sam's ass is tight and hot, rippling around Dean's dick. He curls his palm around Sam's cock and since he's done 'sweet' already, 'slow' can wait for another time. There's barely a rhythm, his hips stuttering and snapping into Sam, burying him deep and deeper, wedging out broken sounds from his brother.

Just as he feels Sam's cock twitching hard, Sam shoots hot ropes of come over Dean's fist and his own belly. It's too much, and Dean almost passes out from the white-hot-tight of his own release. His moan echoes from the other end of the bed when she comes all over Sam's forearm.

Dean eases off of Sam, rolling onto the bed next to him and relaxing. She-Dean settles behind Dean, snuggling him comfortably and looking at Sam over Dean's shoulder, arm wrapped around him possessively, lips forming the same satisfied smile.

Yeah, revenge is damn sweet.

\---

Later on during the next 24 hours, Sam wonders how going at it like really horny bunnies on a sugar high is supposed to help Dean un-confuse his sexual image. Right now, Dean's fucking the clone six ways from Sunday, but Sam has always known that Dean would nail himself if he could, so no news there.

Three days later, they're questioning a woman who continues to flirt with Dean. Dean leans in a little closer, smiling sweetly at her, but drops his hand into Sam's lap under the table, rubbing the skin under the jeans.

_\---end---_


End file.
